It’s another year, since Matthew’s death. And I’ve got him all around me, so I’m okay with knowing that loss. That is what it comes to — how long it takes to really know that loss. You can hear about it, you can see it, even — but when do you know it?
I think about the passing as I contemplate the passage — every step, a portal; every stride, an advancement; every moment, a turning — into the sight of something newly seen.
That’s what I remember; that’s what I focus on, looking forward.
Never back, never just at that, nor the present; nor the future. You are always in that space in between — it’s the momentary stride that takes you, in an instant, from the foot print on the past, to the next step, just in the air, before, too — it is passing; present gone, future beheld.
Looking down at the fish in this water, 70 kilometers outside Tokyo, I see the rain coming.